


Power, in All Its Forms

by MaraudingManaged



Series: LF2020 [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Undertones, F/M, LF2020, TeamEros, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:40:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22762600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaraudingManaged/pseuds/MaraudingManaged
Summary: On her wedding night, Walburga considers the true nature of power.
Relationships: Orion Black/Walburga Black
Series: LF2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628197
Comments: 13
Kudos: 14
Collections: Love Fest 2020





	Power, in All Its Forms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MidnightChardonnay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightChardonnay/gifts).



> Steph - I hope you love this. It was so fun to write and get into the head of Walburga Black! #LF2020 #TeamEros
> 
> Entirely un-beta'd, all mistakes my own.

Walburga gazed at herself in the gilded mirror as one of her elves flitted about making alterations, styling her hair - she paid the little creature no mind. She noted that the gold leaf was peeling from some of the intricate carvings to reveal the dark wood underneath, and a small smile curled at the corners of her blood-red lips. 

Some would find it abhorrent, for the elves not to keep the frame pristine and shimmering, but Walburga knew better. Things were made a little more beautiful when there were imperfections; little marks which revealed the darkness that hid beneath. 

Rather like her husband-to-be, who would be waiting for their union to begin in little more than an hour. 

She’d known, of course, that she would marry Orion Black since she was old enough to know what the word ‘marriage’ meant. In her early girlhood dreams she’d been fanciful, whimsical - that certainly hadn’t lasted, and good riddance to it. She’d had some silly imaginings of roses and romance and candlelight, even though the boy was some three years younger than she. 

They had not, at their parents’ behest, been playmates. It wouldn’t be right, they said, for those who would be wed to have such a familial bond. But from a distance she had watched him grow into a handsome young man, friends with the Riddle boy who had some very intriguing political notions, and she found herself quite pleased with what she saw. 

He had the Black hair, the Black eyes; handsome in every regard, the picture of Pureblood aristocracy. But - most importantly - he embodied the Black temperament and values. They were a perfect match. 

It would be no hardship to be married to him, that was  _ most _ certain. 

Her smile turned into a sneer. Her crass yearmates, however - they simply didn’t understand these things. Oh, her lot in Slytherin certainly knew; it was vital to ensure the absolute purity of Wizarding kind, and that was the end of the matter. Even her wayward Aunt Dorea, with her liberal nonsense, had tied herself to the Potters. Blood traitors they were, but their line was notably pure despite their tawdry lip-service to the old anti-Grindelwald factions. 

Yet still they mocked. Still they spat their slurs in the dark corridors when no Professor was there to see or hear them. 

Walburga stood straighter, tilting her chin upward just a little. 

It simply wouldn’t do for her to be so morose on her wedding day, giving away too many of her thoughts to those who mattered so very little. She was soon to be the true power behind the throne of the Black legacy - it was no secret, after all, that a man would do anything for a beautiful woman. 

And Walburga Black was a  _ very _ beautiful woman. 

“Leave, elf,” she demanded as a rap on her dressing room door sounded, and she set her face in a mask of hope and eagerness. As soon as the crack of the elf’s disappearance sounded, she allowed her father entry to her chambers. 

Her wedding robes were like smoke around her: pewter and silver and the inkiest of blacks. She would wear no veil, for she did not need disguising from her husband. 

Oh no; there would be no disguises this sacred night. There would be no mistaking the power of the union which would take place in the old groves of the Black Manor - the building a ruin, but the grounds so charged with magic and ancient blood that any marriage there would be blessed beyond comprehension.

“My daughter, you are as lovely as ever - I believe marriage already suits you,” her father chuckled, and held out his arm for her to take. 

“Oh, I am certain it does,” she agreed, a breathless sigh on her lips as they Apparated away in a whisk of magic. She didn’t even stumble as they landed - poised and prepared, she would not allow for any notions of sickness tonight. 

It would be most improper for a bride to appear nauseated on her wedding day, after all. 

Her robes whispered in the grass as they walked towards the stone circle, her feet bare against the blades that kissed her feet. She did not falter, did not pause; her purpose was true, her intent pure in every way. 

“My dear Orion,” she purred as her hand was placed in his by her father. “A pleasure it is indeed to see you appear so… dashing.” 

_ So powerful. _

The words were sickly sweet on her tongue, but they had the desired effect. 

“The pleasure is mine, my love.” Orion flashed a wolfish grin as he squeezed her hand and drew it to his lips. His grip was strong, reassuring; his silvery eyes so very like her own glittering in the flickering candlelight as their vast family watched them declare themselves of one mind, one body, and one magic as the sun fell and the moon rose. 

As their magic joined, fused in her chest and his like a thunderclap, Walburga smiled, triumphant. 

And from the rows of her family and allies a handsome young man with neatly combed hair, dressed entirely in black, smiled too. 

Power, in all its forms, had blessed them that night. 


End file.
